Imagination envisions what could be. Reality states what is. And when my journey is shaped by one of these at the exclusion of the other, I will eventually wake up on some road facing the ‘reality’ that I’m far more lost than I could have ‘imagined’.

I think that the real magic in life is that we possess enough imagination to be able to create a bit of it.

To ask what the limits of our imagination are suggests that we firmly believe in limits, but we don’t have much faith in imagination.

Of necessity, our imagination must embrace the dark reality of ‘what is’ as a precursor to ‘what could be.’ For then and only then will we see in the darkness of today the certain light of tomorrow.

If my imagination is taking me ‘away’ from something rather than taking me ‘to’ something, it was never imagination in the first place.

A dream is not simply an idea to entertain a life gone bored. Rather, it is a reality waiting to ignite a world gone dark.

A dream is our imagination waiting for us to be brave enough to pick up a pencil, zealous enough to sketch out a blueprint, determined enough to gather the tools, committed enough to lean into the task, and audacious enough to make imagination the reality that it was always meant to be. For in time, a dream left to be nothing but a dream will eventually leave our souls believing that dreams aren’t worth imagining. And I can only imagine a handful of things as devastating as that.

Dreams were meant to be born, not just dreamt about.

To have a rigorous imagination is to live in ‘what is’ while embracing all the possibilities of ‘what could be.’ To live a fantasy is an attempt to escape both.